


Steps Away From Freedom

by that_one_kid



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Natasha Needs a Hug, The Avengers are mostly good bros, Trust Issues, friendships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:56:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4821347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_one_kid/pseuds/that_one_kid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose. So why does Natasha keep picking up strays?<br/>Also titled; The Art of Being Remade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clint Barton

Coulson was debriefing them, slow and steady, his voice as calming as ever. It was a minor mission, nothing big, and Clint had been in danger but he was fine now. So he didn't understand why Natasha was emotionless, her eyes glittering harshly, or why she was shifting to stay directly between him and Clint. It felt like he was holding a gun on her, so he cut the debrief short and dismissed her. She gave a curt nod, spun, and motioned at Clint to leave with her.

 

He shook his head, and she froze, eyes darting back and forth between Clint and Coulson, weighing, processing, poised on her toes.

 

"Nat." Clint said, gently. "It's okay. I'll be right behind you." She hesitated a fraction of a second, then vanished.

 

"What the hell did I do?" Coulson asked, his voice more angry than he meant it to be.

 

"Nothing." Clint said, and Coulson shook his head.

 

"Tell me, now. I need to know what to avoid-"

 

"Nothing!" Clint repeated, more forcefully. "You didn't do anything. She did.” He sighed, and then continued, his voice catching.  “She chose me over the mission. She didn't complete the mission," Coulson drew in a soft breath of understanding, and Clint nodded. "Where she's from, that's a death sentence for me and worse for her- brainwashing and pain and fear. But she was still standing between us."

 

Natasha slid silently away from the thin patch of the wall, her pale skin still paler than usual. She'd known when he’d brought her in that she'd end up compromised. She just hadn't known it would hurt so much. But they'd taken her in, when she'd given up. And she could almost let herself believe that SHIELD had taken her in too. She could almost ignore the accusations, the raised eyebrows, the hatred and fear.

 

She hated the fear the most. The way that everyone looked at her like a bomb, a slut, a spy, a traitor. She hated the way that if she tried being herself, everyone she met told Barton that she was broken, beyond repair, that she'd cut his throat and walk away at a moment's notice.

 

She hated that they weren’t right. That she was compromised. 

  
~

 

That night, Clint waited until he could hear Coulson’s soft breathing from the couch outside the room, and until Natasha’s breathing slowed from across the bed before he let himself drift towards sleep.

 

Barely half an hour later, he woke up, alarm bells going off in his head. His hand closed on the gun under his pillow, mind foggy from sleep. It took him a second to realize that nothing had woken him. Nothing where he expected something. Natasha’s quiet breathing, slight shifting, was gone. She lay beside him, every muscle tensed, her breathing choked and too shallow.

 

“Nat,” he hissed, shaking her, and he was holding her shoulders too tight but he didn’t think he could stop. “Natasha, wake up. Wake up, it’s a fucking dream, you’re safe, you’re here.” She was murmuring something, quieter even than her breathing, and she was still frozen. He leaned closer.

 

“Please, no, please…” she was whispering, in Russian and English and Chechen without a break between the languages.

 

His stomach dropped.  “Natasha, please, wake up. You’re safe here. They don’t have you any more.” His voice rose to a half-shout. “Wake _up_!” Natasha jerked, her hand coming up to shield her face, curling away and into herself, and he let her pull back, realize, recollect. And then to his surprise she pressed her back into his side, her trembling fading and her breathing steadying.

 

They lay in silence for a long moment.

 

“I was dreaming,” Natasha said at last, quietly. Clint muttered in agreement. “About before. About them. And about you.” He waited, but her breathing smoothed into sleep and she relaxed a little against his side.

  
Maybe she had this one thing to lose, after all.


	2. Steven Rogers

The problem with going deep undercover is that no one knows who you were. Natasha realized this at about age eight. Steven Rogers was apparently just learning this… now. So when the mission went south, and he tried to go to his friend, the usual happened.

 

“You’re a traitor!” the junior agent yelled, her finger tight on the trigger. Steve had his hands up, calming, trying to explain without revealing anything classified. He’d ordered Natasha to stand down when the agent had pulled the gun out, so she stood quietly beside him. Hopefully, the idiot wouldn’t get them both shot.

 

The door slammed open, and Natasha knocked Steve out of the way as the panicky junior agent finally snapped. The bullet lodged into the doorframe, where three men in Hydra gear were standing.

 

“Goodbye, traitors,” one snarled, and each soldier pulled a grenade pin out with smooth motions. The grenades seemed to move in slow motion, arcing gently through the air. Natasha leaped forwards, knocking the first one back outside the door. Steve batted the other out of the way with his shield. The third rolled towards the frozen junior agent, and they were both too far away. The explosion caught the junior agent, a girl named Ru Li, and Steve, tossing them both backwards. Natasha was clipped, but she moved with it, slamming into the wall in a more controlled fashion. She had her guns out when the Hydra agents returned, and they fell fairly quickly.

 

Ru Li had no pulse, and she moved on quickly to Steve. His pulse was weak, but steady, and he seemed mostly uninjured. She tore a strip from Ru Li’s shirt and tied a hasty bandage around Steve’s side. The dead didn’t need much, after all. Probably not shirts.

She heaved Steve up, wrapping his arm over her shoulders. It wasn’t a long walk to the car.

~

 

Steve woke up slowly, the serum gleaming in his mind. He could feel an ache in his side, like shrapnel, only that didn’t make sense because the war was over. Wasn’t it? He groaned softly and moved to turn over, but a cool hand caught his shoulder.

 

“I realize you heal quickly,” Natasha said from above him. “But if you make me restitch that again I’m using the pink thread.” Steve took a slow, careful breath.

 

“I like pink.” he said, and he could imagine her rolling her eyes. He opened his own eyes, squinting even against the dim light. They were in a small apartment. There was almost no furniture that he could see. His bed rested in a shadowy corner. The blankets seemed new, unused. Folded neatly on the carpeted floor were three blankets, next to a pillow. Whoever lived here slept on the floor, he guessed.

 

“We didn’t have anyone’s medical to go to,” Natasha said, handing Steve a glass of water. “Hydra and SHIELD both think we’re traitors, officially. I figured you’d do alright with the serum.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve said, noticing the cloth on his head with mild surprise. “For taking care of me,” Natasha shrugged, fluidly.

 

“I didn’t have anything else to do.” she said. Steve glanced around at the barren apartment again, and he noticed something about the walls. He’d thought they were wallpapered, but on closer inspection they appeared to be covered in photos. Photos of people, buildings, planes, weapons, medical, and the Avengers.

 

“Where are we?” he asked. “Who lives here?” Natasha lowered her head a fraction, her posture suddenly defensive.

 

“I do.” she said, simply. “There wasn’t anywhere else I could take you.” It took him a second to realize the implications. Natasha was showing him herself, and she was afraid of what he’d think, or do. Maybe she was afraid he’d betray her, mock her, judge her.

 

“I think it’s nice,” he said, and won himself a half smile. “Sorry about stealing your bed.”

 

“Yeah,” she said, her eyes carefully averted from the blankets on the ground. “No problem.”

 

He was in her house one more time before they moved into Avengers Towers. Fresh out of the hospital, his cuts from Bucky’s fists still unhealed, he found himself there. Natasha escorted him in, handed him a gun, keys, and pointed at the cabinet, then vanished. She was there when he needed her, and she guarded him when he hid under blankets as his world fell apart and she guarded him when he slowly pieced himself back together.

  
Maybe she’d found  another thing she didn’t want to lose. 


End file.
